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 Posted: Thu Jan 09, 2014 11:35 am
The opening riff to Hell or Highwater's "Crash and Burn" resonated around the arena, the song that had become known as Monday Massacre's theme tune. The song had become the trademark entrance for the General Manager, Matt Shanahan, and that's exactly who the fans were expecting to see once again. Life is a long, long road I know,
Take it one day at a time!
But days are wasted,
I cant replace 'em.
If I'm not mistaken,
I don't have time for this!
The nights are getting longer and longer,
I swear that I used to be stronger.
But I wont forget that I can't regret where I've been,
So until then I'll say... Right before the chorus struck, a tall, muscular figure ran out on stage. The moment he pushed through the curtain, the fans screamed his name to greet him. Wearing his black jeans, a black "Trivium" muscle shirt, and his signature aviators to hide his eyes, it was none other than the General Manager himself, Matt Shanahan. A wide grin etched his features as he gazed across the large crowd filling the arena. With his grin in check, Matt quickly began his trek down to the ring. As he made his way down the ramp, a squad of ten security guards walked behind him, all of them looking calm and ready to defend the peace of the arena. Crash and burn, my friend!
I'll see you at the bottom of the
Deep, dark blue descend!
This is the end!
Begin again!The God of Punks' movements were quick, considering there was a bounce of energy in every step he took; the security guards lined the outside of the ring, all facing inward in watch everything unfold. He jogged up the steel steps and stepped over the top rope with ease, entering the squared circle. He stopped in the corner to stare at the table sitting in the middle of the ring, horizontal to the entrance ramp with a chair on either side. Laying on it were three microphones, a pen, and a small stack of papers. The contract to be signed this evening. With a smirk on his face, he chuckled and walked to the table and picked up a microphone, giving the tech-crew the sign to stop the music. "... Whatta night, right?" Matt muttered into the microphone with a hint of humor to his words, getting a positive reaction from the crowd. "Ya' know, I hope you all have enjoyed the beginning of our ground-breaking tournament so far, I know I have. There's still much more to come tonight, but first... we must discuss a serious topic. No... not Kelly King's brats. We gotta discuss the big, ugly drag-... elephant in the room. The World Championship situation..." Matt paused to overlook the crowd, reading their vibe as he continued, "You see, at our first ever outdoor Pay-Per-View, Salem Croft surprised Jarel Damone by throwing himself into the finals of the World Title Tournament, thus preventing Damone from winning it by default. Salem was not a planned participant, but I for one am -happy- that someone stepped up to the plate to give the crowd in Salem the proper main event they deserved. Jarel doesn't see it like that. He thinks he was cheated. He thinks his loss was a -fluke-. He discredits our champion. Of course he does... the 'might Dragon' only knows how to discredit people, right?"Shanahan moved to face the ramp, letting his smirk return to its prominent place on his lips. "I wanted to ignore Jarel, make him mad... see what really makes him tick. I booked him against Hiro Shin-Mozas last week with hopes that Hiro would win, to be frank. The kid deserved the win, he deserved the shot at gold he craved!... The House wrecked him, and I didn't have any time to postpone the match. So... Hiro lost. Jarel rightfully won his shot at the gold. I'm fair... I won't take it away from him. Along with it, I foolishly gave him the option to choose his own match type. The 'Last Ride' match... I accept that too.""But... Jarel's started to think that he's calling -all- the shots here. Claiming to have his personal enforcers or something of the sort? No, no... So what we're going to do right now, before the great people of Portland, we're going to discuss how this is going to work. And because I know -both- Salem and Jarel so well... I've got a few rules to this. You two are going to -walk- out to this ring without any ********' mind games. You two are going to -sit- in a chair, I don't give a ******** if you want to stand and be all cool, that's my job. And the three of us... are going to discuss the terms of this contract. I've got enough security out here tonight to put you -both- out of commission for the foreseeable future, so let's not do anything stupid. Just come out here... and let's talk like gentlemen."Matt paused to look up the ramp and wait, "Champions always go last." He commented into the microphone.
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Posted: Thu Jan 09, 2014 11:45 am
Oh wah ah ah ah!
Flames burst up on the stage as the crowd cheers the Dragon, who steps out dressed as he was when he entered the building earlier in the evening to speak with King. With no preamble, the Dragon makes his way down the ramp and stops at the end, a smile on his face as he looks at security. Ten men, and Jarel feels no intimidation. After all, he need not throw a punch to get his point across to Salem here tonight. He proved that two weeks ago when his mere presence cost Salem a win. Stepping through the guards, Jarel steps onto the apron and into the ring over the top rope. He takes the far seat, facing the entrance, and as the music dies out, his smile remains. Now it's the champion's turn
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Posted: Sun Jan 12, 2014 3:18 pm
A pause would draw out the silence after Jarel seated himself. Perhaps Salem was trying to psyche out The Dragon by making him wait, or psyche up the crowd for his big entrance of the evening. Maybe there was even some fear at play - could it be that Croft was intimidated by the antagonistic attitude that Jarel had been displaying for him? Before those doubts could bubble up in anyone's minds, however, a haunting melody would play out over the PA system, turning attention towards the main stage. A chilling hum, a gentle strum, the accompaniment caught everyone's attention as Salem stepped out onto the main stage, parting the black curtain while the lyrics began to play.
"I know these hills...
I know these hills...
I know the touch of the sacred ground...
Where they'll lay my body down..."
The woman's voice pacified the applause for the world champion's arrival, fans staring curiously at Salem while images of his exploits flashed across the big screen, overhead. It wasn't the strangely soothing song that they were perplexed by, but rather the difference in the M.W. Deuce's ensemble. Gone were the trophies he typically toted with him towards the ring - his change jar, his microphone, even the BBW World Championship Title was nowhere to be seen on the rookie - in their place, the silently smirking Salem sported a burlap sack hanging from over his right shoulder, gripping the mouth of the bag gingerly in his hand. Also, rather than the typical worn-out white wraps he'd usually wind around his wrists, they'd been replaced with a copper-colored snake skin pattern that went from knuckle to elbow. As he walked down the ramp, Croft's eyes didn't waiver from the ring...his pace, casual and steady while the crowd reached out and called to him from both sides of his path.
"I know these hills...
Stone in the earth...
Rain in the sky...
Blood on the blade...
Hear the angels cry...
Remember my name...
The look in my eyes, oh I...
Ohh, I..."
By now, Salem was stepping onto the steel stairs that led onto the apron, pausing a moment to lean an elbow onto the ropes and look in at the seated veteran from the perimeter of the ring. This gave the audience a chance to take a better look at the bag he'd brought to ringside, the subtle pudge of it wetting the audience's appetite for intrigue. The scratchy-looking brown bag hung against Salem's back as he stared solemnly, the slight smile receding a little with the next few words.
"I know these hills...I know these hills..."
Ducking underneath the top rope, Salem straddled the middle cable as he stepped in, onto the canvas. Straightening up, he approached the table with a smooth stride, setting the bag down on the edge opposite Jarel's side. Hooking his ankle around one leg of the spare chair, Croft dragged the seat towards himself and sat down in a leisurely stance, one leg stretched out while the other was bent at the side of him. Hooking his spare thumb into the beltloop of his hip, he stroked the bag with his opposite hand nonchalantly, the violins and voices fading out as Salem slowly turned his eyes from challenger to check-writer, glancing over at Matt with a growing grin.
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Posted: Sun Jan 12, 2014 10:40 pm
Matt stared at the world champion as he made his way to the ring, sporting a new look and theme song. Rather flashy for a simple contract, Matt couldn't help but think. Once the man was seated, Shanahan gave him a glance and muttered , "Didn't wanna get some matching snake-skin pants, eh?"
Moving onto the topic at hand, the General Manager began to pace around the table and the two competitors. "Now, before we begin, I'd just like to take a moment to reiterate that if you two so much as do anything but shake hands, my staff of security will not hesitate to tackle you to the ground and tase your a** until you're pissing yourself. Yes, I am allowed to authorize that. I like to think that you're both civil beings... even if you're really not. So! I have before you the contract for your match at our Winter-time extravaganza. As Jarel won his contendership match, and I am the gracious person I am... he will get to choose the stipulations for the match. Now, while he's been hyping up this "Last Ride" match, I'm willing to give you a chance to change it, Damone. Do you want to change the stipulation?" Matt asked while stopping at the edge of the table once more, positioned between the two men, though his eyes were on Jarel. "Or do you want to risk being carried off in a hearse on a cold, winter's night?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 12, 2014 10:52 pm
Jarel raises his mic.
"I don't intend to lose my own specialty, Matt. The Last Ride match works for us. It's the beginning of someone's descent into hell. His or mine. As far as our actions here tonight, I don't feel the need to assault him before the match. Last I checked, he was suffering enough effects from our first encounter. Your security are getting paid to do virtually nothing. All I need to know is when and where I sign."
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 3:19 pm
Salem chuckled to himself as Shanahan chided his ring attire. He wanted to tell the man he'd left the pants at Matt's mother's house, but didn't think this the venue for comedy. That was, until the M.W. Deuce tuned back in following Matt's meandering monologue, just in time to hear The Dragon dramatize his injuries following their previous clash at Hardcore Harvest.
That made the world champion laugh aloud, a sinister grin on the young man's lips as he reached for the remaining mic on the table. As the camera focused on the lad's expression, those who stared too deep into Croft's eyes felt a chill run down their spine - as though there were venom laced in his gaze. Pearly whites peeking through, he slipped his feet off the table and stood up, as if to challenge any question of his toughness.
"Heh...Jarel, they say that 'pride goeth before a fall', and if what you just said is any indication, you have a long way to go down, my friend." these last words were said just a few feet from Jarel's face, Salem fearlessly invading the veteran's personal space.
Perhaps from his confidence that Damone wouldn't risk a dozen men dragging him down if he were to strike, or maybe his own confidence that Jarel couldn't beat him. Regardless, Salem straightened back up and began pacing around the table, glancing between his boss, his opponent, and his burlap sack while he continued speaking.
"See, I'm fine, Jarel. In fact, I'm the best I've ever been. But I doubt you can say the same, right?" he said, leaning over Matt's side of the table to inspect Damone's knuckles. "Tell me, man...one world champion to one - well, former world champion..." he stressed with a glint in his eyes. "How many shots do you need in those wrists to sign a contract, these days? You've made a career on being one of the longest-living legends in history, you've been in more Hell in a Cell matches than I've had in my career, you pour more sweat, spill more blood, break more bones than anyone in the hardcore scene, and yet at the twilight of your legacy, you expect me to believe that you don't feel those wounds, you old hell hound?"
As the fans backed the champ's words with rallying boos, Salem shook his head and weaved back around towards his empty chair, eying the security guards on his way. But rather than sit, Salem stepped a foot up onto the seat and leaned against his knee, looking at his opponent with an intimidating smile.
"Heh...no, no...you and I, we know the truth, don't we?" he chided, gesturing back and forth between them with a finger on his spare hand. "Yeah...yeah, see, that's why you need those lackeys lurking around ringside for our match, that's why you want this to be a Last Ride match...because you know you can't cut it. You know you can't beat me outright, because you got bit by The Serpent, you felt that DDT strike you out cold for four seconds...and after that near-death experience, you realized what you had to do. See, snakes and dragons aren't that much different. But where we differ is in our ends...a snake doesn't die, because it's been here since the dawn of time, since temptation itself...but everyone knows the only end to a dragon is for it to be slain."
With a sudden kick of his foot, Salem sent his chair flying back into the ropes, guards startled and stumbling as fans cheered on the spark of aggression. Standing straight once more, Salem stared down Jarel, the audience getting more fired up as his spare hand reached over for his bag on the edge of the desk.
"Don't worry, Matt..." Salem spoke softly without wavering his gaze from the veteran brawler. "I won't put my hands on him...I won't need to...not when I pull out what's in here."
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 7:38 pm
Jarel raises the mic.
"As I expected, you're as dimwitted as our boss here. I don't need back up. I have never needed backup. These men, the family, they aren't going to be in the arena. You pay no attention. They are going to be out of sight, to ensure that this contest is between the two of us."
Jarel cocks his head to the side.
"To correct you, son, I've been in hell in a cell more times than you have years in life. You say pride goes before a fall. True, but my sickness is not my pride. The wounds I've suffered in the past sixteen years, they are badges of honor. Honor is my Sickness, I admit this freely. I'm too honorable. I'm quite determined to take the world title on my own."
Jarel gestures to the bag.
"You speak to me of snakes? Allow me to school you. You say snakes and Dragons are cousins. No, they are not. The two are compared by the Christian faith, due to anything pagan, including dragons, other gods, and fairies, needing to be seen as evil. You see, most equate snakes with temptation. Prior to the rise of that faith, they were symbols of healing. Dragons are symbols of destruction, which is true enough in any faith. They are also symbols of honor, so symbolic that the legendary King Arthur used one as his symbol. But this isn't about symbols or myths. This is about one thing, the BBW World championship. I want it and I will have it. This match, however, isn't about an inability to beat you. It is about the simple fact that in order to defeat me again, you will need to do more than a DDT. It'll take more than three seconds. You will have to beat me unconscious and drag me to that hearse, stuff me inside, and drive it or let it be driven out of the arena."
The Dragon stands up calmly.
"The fact is, you came out of our very first encounter with bruised ribs. You'll come out of this with far worse. Your talk of snakes don't scare me boy. I smell like smoke because I've been through fire. Hell is my home and I've been called the Devil. That makes the snake my servant and in the end a cobra will bow to the Dragon."
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 7:55 pm
"Alright, that's enough," Matt muttered into the microphone while pointing at Jarel, then motioning to his seat, "You, sit your a** back down and if you insult me again, this contract's going into the fire. Sue me, see if I care."
"Now, I don't give a s**t what Dragons are a symbol for, what snakes represent, or just how badly you two ******** hate each other at this point. You know why? Because at the end of the day, I've got a full roster and each one of them is more than willing to take your place in the match," Shanahan paused while motioning to Jarel, "And every single one of them would also love a shot for your precious belt," Matt pointed to Salem as he spoke, "but, much like you two, I'm simply filling in the time slot we've been given with more words. Now, if you two would kindly stow your comments until we finish getting this contract signed, that'd be great. If it wouldn't be too much trouble for our mythology expert over here?" Matt joked with a serious tone while staring at Jarel.
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 8:07 pm
"What's wrong? Mad I didn't include the god of punks in my mythology lesson? Sorry, only story I know of the guy is the Dragon introducing his head to windshield of his own truck, or chariot, if you want to be symbolic."
Jarel resumes his seat.
"Now can we get on with this? Where the blue hell do I sign so this can be official?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 8:23 pm
"Your only place in my history books is about to be that one shot you had at the World Championship and lost to a kid on his debut," Matt shot back with a big grin, going so far as to pat Jarel on the shoulder; as if he could legally do anything to stop him. "Alrighty, moving on the contract, shall we, ladies?"
Matt picked up the contract off the table and began to look it over, resuming his pacing pattern around the two as he did, "Let's see... this contract is to confirm the contest of BBW World Champion Salem Croft and the Demonic Serpent of Cages, Mafias, and All Things Bad and Spooky Jarel Damone, blah blah blah... the signed agree to the terms of the match, blah blah blah... Last Ride match, blah blah blah... rematch clause, blah blah bleeeh... Aha! Here it is. The signed agree that there will be no interference whatsoever in this contest. If someone other than a referee or hired official so much as touches either man, opens the hearse door, or assists the competitors in any way, the contest will be called to an end with no winner. Should the referee fail to call such, appropriate measures will be taken. In short, titles may be stripped and contracts will probably be terminated."
The General Manager paused to glance between the two men as he stopped at his end of the table once more, dropping the clipboard down between them afterwards. "This provision was taken in light of The House's recent assaults on the likes of Omega and Hiro Shin-Mozas, along with the appearance of Jarel's Goon Squad last week. The investors, Kelly King, and myself all want to see this match kept fair and the loser unable to b***h and moan about how he lost."
Leaning down, Matt pushed the contract towards Jarel and pointed at the dotted line at the bottom, "Right there, hot shot."
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Posted: Sun Jan 19, 2014 10:53 pm
"Hate you too boss, hate you too."
Jarel quickly signs on the dotted line designated for him, then slides the contract calmly across the table to Salem. He is purposely showing the opposite demeanor of the champion in this, despite showing signs earlier in the night of having gone completely ******** insane. Then again, sanity is overrated anyway
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Posted: Mon Jan 20, 2014 4:07 am
Salem stood by, watching the commentary between Matt and Jarel while the rookie's wrist hung auspiciously above the closed mouth of the burlap sack. He appeared to be waiting, watching for something in Damone's eyes. The calm presence to them was a lie, the champion knew. Jarel wasn't a silent servant to his desires; so why was he acting so placid when Salem stood prepared to unleash some abomination upon him?
The answer was simple - asymmetrical warfare. If your enemy is big and loud, it's best to strike them small and quietly...but then again, it never hurt to shut up around Salem, seeing as the lad so enjoyed twisting Jarel's words against him. All the same, though, Croft couldn't help but feel a tad disappointed as the paper was slid over towards him, shaking his head at the veteran of brutality.
"Well, now, wait here a minute..." Salem said, a subtle authority in his voice as if he didn't believe what was happening before him. "You're gonna sign over your life...so easily?" He snapped his middle finger and thumb as they hovered above the bag, making a startling pop. "Just like that? Without even seeing what you're fighting for..."
As his words trailed off, Salem's hand slipped just inside the neck of the bag, withdrawing to reveal the coveted Bad Blood Wrestling World Championship belt, which he sat on the varnished wood between the fated pair. Like a jewel, it drank in the set lights and gave off an exquisite shine that dwarfed any camera flash that sparked up to capture a shot of it. Reaching over, Salem began idly stroking the emblem, his fingers idly rubbing his nameplate like a lucky coin as he continued.
"I mean, this is why you're here...this is what you want...even if so many of those in attendance tonight think it's too heavy for you to have around your waist, anymore."
At this, the crowd let out another burst of boos, Salem reaching back over for his bag with a smile.
"Heh...but that honor, it won't let you believe that, huh? You think what I did was a fluke - that I'm some sneaky snake in the grass, slithering in and stealing a victory from under your nose...quite literally, actually. But this viper already bit you once, Jarel...you haven't forgotten the pain I put your body through, the sting of that defeat you feel cheated by. But like I told you before..." Salem said with a subtle layer of intimidation to his cool voice. His hand was once again slipping inside the bag, but this time the audience started building on the background noise, chattering anxiously about what was about to be set loose next.
"The poison goes deeper than the bite!" he growled, jerking his hand out from the mouth of the bag with a quick tug of the arm.
The collective gasp of surprise was audible, fans wide-eyed as they watched Salem pull a long, brownish serpent from inside the bag, its length looking to be at least five-foot. But a moment after, their nervousness would turn to embarrassment as they realized what now lay stretched out on the table wasn't a snake, but rather a microphone modeled to look like one - from the thicker gauge of rubber used to make the cord, to the sandy tan and muddy brown pattern that was pained along it. Even the mic head had been sculpted to look like a snake, the wire of the mouthpiece shaped like the head of a viper. Dropping his BBW transmitter to the floor, Salem flipped a switch just underneath what would have been the snake's jaw to turn his custom communicator on.
"You like it?" he asked, fans cheering in attendance for the creative construct, though Salem was certain the person whom he was speaking to was not nearly as impressed. "It's a copperhead...heh. Get it? Because of the microphone, and how...well, nevermind. I'm sure you know. I'm sure you understand everything I'm saying, because since the day I claimed that championship, you and the rest of these people have hung on my every word, waiting to hear what I'd say, next. Waiting to see if there was any weakness in me, if all the venom I had was spent in our first encounter...but just like all of you, I've been waiting, too - waiting for my chance to sink my teeth into the one that got away, into the man who got back up after that concussive impact and crawled off to fight another day. Well, that day's almost here...and you better pray that when it arrives, I'm not left facing the impotent terror you've come out here as, tonight."
Reaching over with a twist on his lips that seemed too sinister to be called a smile, Salem took the pen and scribbled his name across the highlighted segment reserved for the champion before sliding the sheet back over to the middle of the table, next to his championship belt.
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Posted: Mon Jan 20, 2014 8:36 am
Jarel's shoulders begin to shake......in laughter. It's an odd sight to see the Dragon laugh. He raises the mic o speak again.
"Sign my life away? Ah, how often I've heard similar words. Even the same words in fact. Many men, many kings, warriors, wrestlers, and gods, have said the same thing to me. So many have been sure that they will slay the Dragon. I've heard such big talk from the greats likes Matt here and his new business partner. I distinctly remember his business partner attacking my family even, after uttering those words. His reward was his own scepter cracking his jaw. I've also heard that from pissants like Gravedigger and Kalos. Currently you fall in between the two groups."
Jarel looks at the entertaining mic Salem now holds.
"Very interesting how you've come into this role of yours. You may have bitten the Dragon once, but next we meet, the Dragon will take your ******** head.I'm far from impotent little man. I'm simply conserving my energy. Pain is relative. It is a common occurence. One cannot live without pain. One cannot be champion without enduring every kind of pain. I've been in this business 16 years now. Pain is not something I fear.You claim I crawled away. Yet the footage shows I very clearly walked away. You talk a big game, perhaps feeling big about successes in other federations. Wins over the likes of Harli and Cyrus Leone have you feeling pretty cocky, don't they?"
Jarel chuckles again.
"In case you missed it, I'm not like either of them. I'm a fourteen time world champion, yet I don't feel the need to flaunt it. Past world championships don't help me here. Frankly, some could wonder why I even want this one so much? After all, Matt and I can't stand each other. I vaguely wonder why the blue hell he signed me in the first place. It's not the largest federation. It's new, it's slightly different. But why this title? After three years of being without championship gold around my waist, why BBW's world title?"
The Dragon looks at the title.
"This is one of many things that sets me apart from your previous opponents, so called icons and legends you've defeated. I don't give a damn about mainstream or indy. I don't give two shits if I don't get along with management. I never do, and seemingly never will. If I truly wanted to, there's at least one so called mainstream federation I could be champion of, if I put my mind to it. But I choose this place. Three years with no championship gold and no championship desire, yet here I am, just a short time from engaging in one of my many specialities, competing for a title that some would have the audacity to say lacks prestige. But there's an old saying that goes, the title doesn't make the man, the man makes the title."
Jarel looks back into Salem's eyes.
"You speak to me of poison. You cannot poison what is already infected with the Sickness. I possess the Sickness of honor. Yours is clearly your confidence. You have reached the point of over confidence. I am 40 years old, which may seem old to you. You think I'm in the twilight of my career. You feel like you're invincible. It's time for that delusion to fade. Your Sickness with fade from confidence to self doubt. Live on PPV, when you're standing across that ring from me, all that bravado will go out of the window. Only then will you truly understand the depths and the lows you will have to sink to in order to best me in such an environment. The loser is the man who is incapacitated enough to be stuffed in a hearse and driven out of the arena. This match is not my end. You do not have what it takes to end me. You cannot slay this Dragon."
Jarel leans back in his chair.
"But by all means, sit there and continue to delude yourself. You have one last week to prepare. One last week to enjoy your reign at the top of the BBW mountain. Because all too soon, I'm going to bring that mountain crashing down and rebuild it with myself perched at the top ready and waiting to set fire to all who dare approach me. The time for talking is at an end. There is nothing more to say here tonight that hasn't already been said. And since our dear boss has taken out the fun of a good old fashioned brawl and putting someone through the table, we're done here, aren't we?"
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Posted: Thu Jan 23, 2014 2:29 pm
"... I'm not sure you know how mountains work," Shanahan commented while leaning forward and picking up the contract. He glanced over the fine details, mainly noting the two signatures near the bottom. "Perfect! All is settled, and now King can sort out medical expenses that may come. Hopefully The dragon won't need a hip implant by the end of it." The General Manager looked between the two men once more, "Anything else before I get on to more important things?"
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Posted: Thu Jan 23, 2014 3:27 pm
"Yeah. Right here, chief." Salem spat into his MIC with a terse smile, the pupils of his eyes focusing so hard on Jarel that they almost narrowed like a viper's. Reaching for his belt with one hand, the world champion slipped it over his shoulder, straightening up menacingly next to his would-be opponent. "See, I think its funny that I'm even humoring this...you, getting another opportunity at this title."
With the crowd rumbling quietly at the obvious insult, the "Most Wanted Man in Wrestling" appeared to be dropping another "Snake Byte" with his newly christened copperhead, stroking his title as he did so.
"Look at yourself..." he said, furrowing his brow in disgust as he stepped slowly around the seated veteran. "You come out here...sit down like you don't care about me, like this is all just a formality to you...because like you've said. You've had fourteen of these. And countless other titles like it. So I'm sure you've sat at tables like this plenty of times, signed papers like this enough to know them front to back, even with your limited vision...and I say 'limited' because in a hardcore career that's lasted over four presidential terms, I'm sure you've forgotten what it feels like to be climbing up the mountain for the first time when you've already been at the top...when you've been lurking in your lair for three long years, you forget what it's like to be a soaring star, like me. You're so old, so experienced, so confident because you no longer think the world can surprise you. But again, I ask - just who the Hell are you, old man? Better yet, who do you think I am?"
At this, the crowd took the pause for breath to bolster their world champion's spirits with a resounding array of cheers, Salem now looking over at Jarel from Matt's side of the table.
"Let me tell you who I am..." he said, raising the world title high. "I'm the guy who beat you to become the first ever, longest running BBW World Champion. I'm the guy who's been in your head since the day I got here, who's haunted your dreams because he did what you never saw coming...he surprised you. You picked me up for that chokeslam thinking I was just a garden variety snake who slithered too close to the Dragon's gold...but then you got bit, and the wound was left to fester and infect you...but this time, Jarel, I'll do more than surprise you - I'll slay you!"
The crowd was roaring now, Salem's gradually building excitement leaving his bellowing voice echoing for a second as red had crept into the young champion's face. Resting the belt back against his shoulder, he circled round the table back towards his original position, never losing sight of Jarel. "Play this charade all you like, act like I'm beneath you, because that's exactly where I'll cut you down from, right underneath your nose! In our match, I'm going to put the final nail in your coffin, and drag you out of the arena still the world champion! You'll never take my crown, Jarel! I'm a cold-blooded king!"
With a sudden jerk of his free hand, Salem snatched the end his his bag still sitting on the desk and slung it forward - tugging the sack back to spill what was left inside, out - the coiled, slick countenance of a twelve-foot king cobra, slipping off the edge and onto The Dragon in his chair!
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